Guramayle. An Unlimited Love Story

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“Hi!” Two girls sitting behind the counter greet me as one and openly check me out, as I walk into the music store. After I’ve replied to their greeting, one of them asks, “Can we help you?”

“Well, I’m looking for some music, obviously. It’s a very popular song at the moment, but I don’t know the name of it, nor the name of the singer.”

“Man or woman? Or is it a group?”

“I think it’s a woman; it’s definitely a woman singing the song, but I can’t tell if she’s part of a band. But it’s very popular at the moment; you hear it everywhere.”

The two girls deliberate and I get the feeling that one of them wants to check some ideas, whereas the other seems to stop her. They talk, laugh, and keep glancing at me. It seems like they’re having a great time together. Then eventually, they turn back to me; “What does it sound like?”

They want me to sing? “It sounds like she’s constantly singing something like ‘Guya maya’, but probably I don’t pronounce it correctly.”

They look at each other, and I think I recognize the ‘I told you so’ look in the one girl’s eyes, but the other one remains unfazed; “What does the music sound like?”

I’m sure she’s playing with me, but not in a bad way. They are cute, good looking, and have a sassy attitude which I like, and which gives them a lot of leeway.

The one girl who does most of the talking, the most playful one, has a sharp-lined, heart-shaped face with a pointy chin, cute cheeks, and a small, thin, perky nose. She has thin lips of a pale pink color, and her brown skin shines. Her black eyebrows are prominent but narrow, high above her almond-shaped, shiny eyes, and her dark hair is tied up in a bun, high at the back of her head. She has a bright face, and by the looks of it, she’s quite a character. I wouldn’t want to stand at the other end of an argument with her.

The other one—the one who seems to know the answers but is held back by number one—she has a soft, round face, and I’m not sure whether her skin is really darker, or if it only looks that way because of its matt brown color. Her eyebrows are thicker and bushy, covering her dark eyes that are deeper inside her face. Her nose and lips are full, and her mouth a bit open, showing part of her prominent front teeth. I can’t see her hair as it’s hidden under a hijab, but for some reason I expect it to be long and shiny; beautiful. Although at first sight, her looks make me think of her as being compliant and perhaps a little gullible, there’s something in that picture that doesn’t quite match. As if she’s taken up a role and is hiding her true nature from the outside world.

“Do you know the tune of the song; can you sing it for us?” There is a mocking, teasing smile on the lips of number one, and number two seems curious to see if I’m taking the bait; if I’m willing to make a fool of myself.

“It wouldn’t look good on the music shop, to have me singing in here,” I try to get away from it, but they are persistent.

“Everybody sings in here,” number two finally speaks more than a few words to me. “We always appreciate the effort, and your voice sounds good enough to us.” The other one pokes at her, and they both burst out in laughter. Then they softly whisper to each other, and look at me again; “Is it like this?” They start singing a tune which definitely isn’t what I’m looking for, but their voices sound great anyway.

“Unfortunately not,” I say after they’re finished, “But I would love to buy a CD with songs from the two of you.” But then I bite; “The chorus sounds a bit like this; ‘Guya maye to-doh, guya maye tah… dah…'”

I’m almost convinced they recognize it, but they play ignorant. Instead of asking more about the music, number one changes the subject with, “Are you on holiday?”

“No, I’m here for work. I’m teaching at Alemaya University.”

“You? Really? What subject?”

“Soil science. I came to Harar for a change of scenery. I live on campus, which is nice but isolated, so I decided I wanted to see something from this city today. I’ve heard and read a lot about it. I’ll go back to the university this evening.”

“Do you like Harar? You should come back next week. Why don’t you ask for the name of the song when you hear it again, and then come back to us so we can find it for you? I’m sure we have it, if it’s a popular song. We have all the popular songs, and many more. Just get back to ‘Getachew Music Shop’, and we’d love to help you to find the right CD next week!”

I’m almost sure that, in any other shop, I can get this song immediately. And yet, I nod and tell them I’ll come back next week. “In the meantime, you too have to try to figure out what music I’m talking about. Guya maya. I’m sure it sounds like that.”

I’m about to leave the shop when the one girl gets up, picks a CD out of a rack along the wall, and hands it out to me. “Why don’t you buy this one for now? It’s a new album from Aster Aweke, and this CD contains the song we were just singing for you. I’m sure you’ll love it.”

I laugh at her Anadolu Yakası Yabancı Escort sales-trick, but I do give in and buy the CD. “It better be a good one, because I’ll be back next week!”

“Trust me, you’ll love it!”

***

“Hello!” Both girls are sitting behind the counter as if they’d never left this place. I think even their clothes are the same.

“Hi. Remember me?”

“Sure,” the more talkative one replies. “You’re the professor who bought a CD from Aster Aweke last week. Did you like it?”

“I’m no professor but I did like the music. However, I came to buy another CD. Do you know Gigi?”

“Of course we do. You want her new album.”

“And? Do you have it?”

“Of course, we have it.” She sounds haughty; almost offended that I dared to ask. “Do you like coffee?”

Surprised by the sudden change of subject, I nod, and the other girl quickly leaves the shop.

“This is the album you’re looking for.” She shows me a very dark CD cover with a woman’s face and the letters ‘GIGI’.

“You’re probably right.” I reach out, but she keeps it away from me. Instead, she looks at the back-side to check which songs it contains. “It’s a very good CD; lots of good numbers. I’m sure you’ll love it. I think the music has some American influences; are you from America?”

I shake my head.

“Then where do you come from?”

I tell her, and then she names some of the things she knows about France; the Eiffel Tower, Paris, Napoleon, champagne…? Soon, the other girl enters the shop again, followed by a man carrying a tray with two cups of coffee. The waiter places the coffee on the counter, despite my objections the girls pay, and then he leaves again.

“You’re not drinking coffee?” I ask the girl who’d ordered the drinks.

“She’s married,” the other girl answers for her as if that explains it all. “And you; are you married?”

“No, I’m still single. And you too?”

She nods, and wants to know more; “But you have a girlfriend.”

I shake my head; “I haven’t met the right one yet.”

“Maybe you did meet her,” she replies with a cheeky smile, “but you haven’t realized it yet.”

I check her out; do I get this right? That seems very straight-forward, if she tries to tell me what I think she does. It doesn’t match the behavior of the other Ethiopian women I’ve met so far. Her smile makes me feel like I’m interpreting her correctly. “And you?” I try to get a better idea of her.

“I think I’ve met him, but in Ethiopia, women can’t take the initiative. I’ll have to wait, and hope he’ll come to me.”

She is looking me straight in the face, and I feel my face turning red. Now what have I gotten myself into?

“Drink your coffee. Don’t you like it?”

I take a sip—it’s nice—and nod. “Really good coffee.”

“What is your name?”

“I am Max. And you?”

“She’s Sebel, and I’m Birtukan. Sebel means crop, from the field, and Birtukan is orange; the fruit. What’s the meaning of Max?”

“It comes from Maximus; ‘Greatest’. Not sure why my parents chose that name; I guess they just liked the sound of it.”

“I like it; I think it’s a great name. For how long are you staying in Ethiopia, Maximus?”

“At least for two years. At the moment I’m trying to get the instruments working for some basic measurements, and I’m teaching, both students and lab-assistants. But in a few months’ time, there will also be students from the university where I come from, who will need assistance in doing their research here. If all goes well, I will extend my stay with another three years, to do my own Ph.D. research here as well.”

“So, you’ll come back many times to Harar. Next week, you can buy the CD from Gigi. Now, you can buy this one,” Birtukan hands me another CD, from someone named Teddy Afro, “which is also a very famous album at the moment. We can’t sell Gigi’s CD now because it’s our last one, and we cannot make new copies without it.”

I guess I could get angry by the way she’s playing with me, threaten them I’ll go to any of the other music shops in Harar where, no doubt, I can buy this CD immediately, but actually, I do feel flattered by the fact that she wants me to come back. And, I guess, I do want to come back to see her again. I like her frisky attitude. It’s refreshing.

***

“Good morning, Maximus! Today is your lucky day; we have enough copies of Gigi’s CD, so you’ll finally be able to buy it.”

I actually feel a little disappointed. Does that mean there is no more reason to come back?

“Coffee?” she asks, and looks at me with her mocking smile.

“Can I invite you this time?”

“For coffee?” Birtukan shakes her head, and Sebel is gone before I can react. “It’s part of our service.”

“So, if I can’t invite you for coffee, can I invite you for lunch or dinner instead?” I’m surprised by my own boldness, but now I can’t back out anymore.

Birtukan also seems surprised—did I cross the line?—and looks at me with Anadolu Yakası Yeni Escort wide shiny eyes. She checks me out, a smile draws back over her whole face, and then she replies, “You’re not trying to bribe me, are you?”

“I think it would be a win-win situation. If that gets me informed about the best music you have, I might be interested to buy more of it. I did like Teddy Afro, and I could definitely use more of that.”

“So you want to have dinner with an Ethiopian girl?”

“Sure, why not? It’s way better than eating alone again. And you? Would you want to have dinner with a French guy?”

“And then? After dinner?”

“After dinner, I’ll immediately have to go back to the university; otherwise I’ll be too late for transport.”

“Okay…” she sounds as if she’s agreeing to what she considers an exciting challenge, “we’ll have dinner together then. You can pick me up at a quarter past twelve. Where are we going?”

A quarter past twelve; that means she’s using the Ethiopian time system, which is a quarter past six for the western world. “I was hoping you’d have some suggestions. I’m not too familiar in Harar.”

“I think I know just the place to go to.”

Sebel returns and I think Birtukan tells her about our date; it’s in their language, but the way they look at me… It seems like Sebel is cheering for her, and Birtukan’s enthusiasm appears to grow even further.

We drink our coffee, I finally buy the CD, and then I have to figure out what else I can do today. There’s a whole afternoon ahead of me, but Harar is a great place to spend some extra hours. It’s an ancient Muslim town with a long and rich commercial history, demonstrated by many, many mosques, shrines, old buildings, and other places of interest. It’s a colorful city, teeming with life, filled with people from various ethnic backgrounds, different faces, different physiques, each group wearing their own traditional clothes, and I enjoy every minute of my time here.

I enjoy it even more because of the prospect of having dinner with Birtukan this evening. I do appreciate my colleagues at the university, they are all friendly and helpful, but they always keep their distance. And women even more than men. Birtukan actually seems to enjoy my company, and her directness is a relief. It would be nice if I can build some sort of friendship with her, even while she’s living this far away from me.

I make sure I’m back at the music shop well in time, and Birtukan already seems to be waiting for me; she comes out of the shop even before I’ve arrived. “Sebel will close off today.”

She takes me a few blocks away and leads me into a nondescript enclosure, to walk into a large garden filled with tables, and staff running around. “I think you are Christian; or are you Muslim?”

“I’m Christian,” not that it really matters to me, but I guess that’s what she wants to hear. “You too?”

“Yes, I’m Christian too. So that’s no problem. You like Ethiopian food?”

“It took me some time to get used to, but now I’m fine with it. It’s very unlike the food I’m used to eat, and I’m not really used to spicy food at all, but I’ve started to appreciate it.”

We take place at an empty table and I encourage Birtukan to order what she likes; “I liked all the choices you’ve made so far.”

Birtukan places the orders and then we do the exploratory talk. ‘What do you do in your free time?’

“I prepare lessons and try to learn more about my field of work,” I tell her, “or I read books or watch movies. And sometimes I play caramboula in the staff lounge.”

“You have a television?”

“No, I watch DVDs on my laptop.”

“Do you have ‘Titanic’? I really want to see that movie one time.”

“I don’t have it yet, but I can see if I can buy it somewhere. I think I’ve seen it being sold in Harar, and otherwise, I might ask my sister or one of my friends to send it to me. And what do you do, when you get home?”

“I study. I’m in my last year of evening school, grade twelve, and if my exams are good enough, I’ll continue by going to university next year. I want to study Health Sciences.”

“In Alemaya?”

“Yes. Maybe I’ll rent a room in your house,” she smiles, “and then we can watch movies together.”

Fortunately, right at this moment—which is unbelievably quick but typical for Ethiopian restaurants—our food arrives. I have no idea how to react to Birtukan’s last comment—her suggestion?—and now I am excused for not replying to it, as we go washing our hands first.

Birtukan has ordered baked sheep meat, one of the common dishes in Ethiopia, and I like it. I also enjoy watching how Birtukan skillfully picks up her food with the injera. Even after more than a month, I’m still having problems eating by hand, while Ethiopians make it look so easy.

“How do you like Harar,” I ask her, trying to start a new topic. “Were you born here?”

“No, I wasn’t born here; I moved to Harar a few years ago. I like it; it’s a nice place Anadolu Yakası Masaj Salonu to live.”

“Is it no problem for a Christian woman to live in a Muslim city?”

“I think it must have been difficult before, but it’s not really a Muslim city anymore; I think most people are Amhara now. And I have no problems with Muslims; Sebel is Muslim, and we are sharing a house together.”

“You’re sharing a house with her? I thought she was married?”

“Her husband lives in Dire Dawa and comes over once in a while to visit her. She needs the money, I can’t afford a place for myself, and it’s nice to share a house with other people. We even do most of the cooking together; only when we have meat, we prepare that separately.”

I nod; I can see the benefits of living together with someone. “I’m currently having a room in a shared apartment, but I’m supposed to get my own private house soon, with extra rooms for the students. The other people in the apartment are from India, and we don’t have much contact; they’re mainly spending their time together with the other Indians at the university. Most of my meals I take in the staff restaurant. There is a woman cleaning our house and also doing my laundry; she’s cooking for the Indians, but not for me. And it seems too much for me, to have someone cooking for me alone; I don’t think there’s enough space in the kitchen anyway.”

“So that’s why you come to Harar; to get something different to eat.”

“One of the reasons is to buy new music, of course, and Harar is a nice place to visit, but it’s also nice to get something different to eat, once in a while. The previous times I visited some Western restaurants; I like Ethiopian food, but it’s nice to get some of our normal food for a change. Have you ever tried our food?”

“I know pasta and rice, but most of the time we eat injera or bread. We never go to restaurants.”

“So, maybe I should invite you to try our food, next time.”

She looks at me, seems to think about it, but then she shakes her head; “I can’t eat like you. I’m not used to eating with tools.”

“That’s no excuse. I’m still not used to eat with injera, but here I am. It’s really not that difficult, and if you really want it, I’m sure you’ll manage to eat my type of food with me. I won’t judge your style, like I hope you’re not judging mine at the moment.”

“If I really want it?” she repeats, and gives me a look that makes me very aware of the message she’s transmitting now; “I would love to give it a try one time, to eat your food together with you, but only if you teach me.”

I can’t say I hadn’t expected it—I was well aware of the implications of the challenging tone in my invitation—but immediately after saying it, I’d regretted these bold words. Is it appropriate to play this game with an Ethiopian girl? I don’t think flirting is normal in Ethiopia, and what if she puts too much meaning into these words? She has been pretty direct in what she wants. I like her, but not to the point where I can see myself getting married anytime soon. But I can’t back out now; I wouldn’t want to, and it’s not necessary. I just have to remind myself to be more careful with her. “What about next week?”

“Okay. But then you should come on Sunday morning, next week. The shop doesn’t open until after lunch on Sunday, so I can invite you for coffee and lunch. I’ll do a coffee ceremony for you.”

“I would love to see you doing the coffee ceremony, but isn’t it too much for you, inviting me for both coffee and lunch?”

“No, coffee and lunch go together. So we have a date; a second date already! I think we’re doing well!” She smiles her charming smile, but I can’t deny the truth of her words. I also can’t deny feeling uncomfortable by the speed at which things are going right now. I like her company, but it seems to be getting out of hand for me.

But we continue our meal while talking about music and movies. Of course, she knows all about Ethiopian music, but about movies, she only knows what she’s heard from others. “That could be our third date,” she suggests with her cheeky smile, “watching Titanic with you.”

“If I can find the DVD,” I reply, not rejecting the idea. I do wonder how we would arrange that. Would she be able to take a day off, only for watching a movie? And would I have to go to Harar, or could she come to the university… Anyway, that’s for later. First, we’ll see about our ‘date’ next week.

Time flies, and too soon we have emptied our plate and it’s time for me to go. I had a great time, and I have to withhold myself from embracing her when saying goodbye. Not that I get the impression she would mind…

“So, see you on Sunday next week then?”

“I’ll be there,” I promise. “Is ten o’—is four o’clock early enough?”

“That would be fine, I think; maybe half an hour earlier. Bye Maximus, see you on our next date!”

“Looking forward to seeing you next week again, Birtukan.”

***

“Hi, Max. How are you today?”

“I’m fine. How about you? I like the way you have your hair done!” Birtukan’s hair is braided in many narrow cornrows, tightly pulled against her head, and it looks beautiful.

“You like it? Sebel did this for me.” She strokes her fingers over the braids. Then she points to the equipment, laid out on the floor; “I think you’re familiar with our coffee ceremony?”